The Longest Day

I was joking with my brother about how our mendacious local newspaper had reported one shopper who, when questioned about the significance of 4th June, had hazarded the intelligent guess that it might be Father's Day, and my brother, in an indignant rage over this travesty of historical knowledge proceeded to shout blue murder about the pathetic state of historical awareness. He proceeded to ask what other fruitcakes of history might think 6th June was next.

While I waffle a little about the implications of callously and cold-bloodedly crushing unarmed students under tanks and shooting them randomly, 6th June is surely a day to remember, even if we were never part of that whole Western world debacle resulting in the deaths of millions and the suffering of hundreds of millions. For, on this day, six decades ago, tens of thousands of troops braced the swelling seas and landed on the beaches of Normandy, in a fashion that bears much similarity to the drama and action that is portrayed in the media productions based on this momentous event, Saving Private Ryan and more recently, Band of Brothers. While Saving Private Ryan caused more of a stir due to its unprecedented NC-16 rating and its supposed wanton brutality rather than because it was a reminder of the probable reason why we have a free world today instead of a ruined wasteland without Jews, it did somehow bring to many people's attention that D-Day had actually occurred, instead of being filmed in a sterile studio setting with artillery shells pencilled in by animators. The sheer magnitude and import of these landings still brings tears to the eyes of the people who participated in it as well as those who were infinitely grateful for its effect. It is quite reprehensible that many are still oblivious to it.

We may not be members of the Transatlantic partnership, but certainly heroism and the quest to eradicate evil is stateless, and I still stand in awe at the valour of those who played a role in this riskiest of gambles. It took great courage for them to volunteer for a vocation that they knew would almost certainly lead to a horrific and ignominious death, but they knew that they were taking part in a crusade to the blackest heart of man, and that they would be exchanging their lives for a chance to free the world. Such an attitude, on such a massive scale – half the world mobilising to fight the other half is surely humbling.

I normally harbour an odium for the US, but this week, with a nod to history, I feel respect for what the US had done for World War 2 and thereafter, and their selfless (though some may argue) contribution to ending the reign of terror and darkness of the Axis powers. This, coupled with the death of Ronald Reagan, means that my approval rating of the US this week is at its highest level ever, though it is more a culmination of reverence towards US actions and personalities in the past rather than any sort of approval.

This is why the latest gaffe of the US President, to compare his war on a noun to World War 2 like an oily salesman compares a Toyota to a Ford, is like a toddler drawing a shaky line across a drawing block with a red crayon, and it has drawn flak from almost everybody around, because there are (almost) no parallels, historical technicalities aside. One side you're fighting against the biggest evil in the world who threatens to enslave entire populations and exterminate the others, and the other you're fighting against people you armed and then cheesed off and whose innocent brethren you strip and beat. Somehow, people have let that pass, bowing to the well-established idiocy and callousness of the man.

Looking at archives of D-Day pictures only fortifies an urge to use the US Flag as my wallpaper or to play the Star-spangled Banner once or twice, though we may be reminded that the great transatlantic handshake with Britain also played a key role. Once, they linked hands and drove across Europe to liberate and unify it; now that Euroscepticism threatens to tear it asunder, the date serves to remind us what a pity that would be.